


A Campfire Tale

by maximumsuckage



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Campfires, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Obitine, Pre-Relationship, Year On the Run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28724187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximumsuckage/pseuds/maximumsuckage
Summary: Satine made the fire, so Obi-wan has to tell the story.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	A Campfire Tale

**Author's Note:**

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Satine wasn’t sure what to make of her bodyguard. Master Jinn was strong and steadfast, a brick wall of a man standing strong between her and danger. His hand on her shoulder was heavy and grounding, and his eyes were kind, always sparkling with his inner fire.

But his boy, Padawan Kenobi, was a different story. He was smaller than his master, his words cynical and his eyes suspicious. He jumped too easily if she accidentally brushed against him, and he rarely looked her in the eye when she spoke. He was a tightly closed book, but she had no interest in opening him. He could keep his secrets. She had her own.

That night was cold. They huddled together in the woods of a small moon, a few kilometers outside the spaceport they would hitch a ride from in the morning. Satine had built the fire, stoking it with all the skills her mother had taught her. Though her mother had long ago passed away, the familiar action still made her eyes burn. She had no parents anymore. The violence had taken them from her, and she was an orphan.

Her breath hitched as she coaxed the flames higher. They danced with the breath of her quiet sob.

Jinn slept nearby, buried deep in his sleeping bag. Kenobi stood watch, pacing a few meters off to stay warm. Satine pressed her fist to her mouth to quell her grief- there was no time for that now.

She could not remember her mother’s face. But she could  _ only _ remember her father’s face. The shock in his eyes at being shot, the pallor that settled as he looked down at the wound, the way his breath stuttered and his eyes rolled back as he fell. He had been dead before he hit the ground, and Satine had wailed as her own guards dragged her away.

The flames were tiny, licking from the torn piece of flimsy to the pile of shredded wood. Then, braver, they flicked to the twigs and became bolder, leaping higher to the bark of the log.

“Thank you,” Kenobi said.

She jumped this time, entire body flinching at his sudden proximity. He crouched beside her, held out his stiff fingers over the immature fire. “I can care for it from here, if you would like to sleep.”

There was a lump in her throat. If she went to bed, curled away from her two Jedi, she would weep all night. She did not want to weep. She was tired of crying, of the ache behind her eyes and the terror for the future for her people. She was weary, but sleep would only bring more sadness.

She shook her head and sat down beside the fire, crossing her legs. “I don’t feel like sleeping right now,” she said softly. “I can keep watch, if you would like some sleep.”

The fire leapt to the log and exploded higher as it burned through the bark, crackling cheerfully now. Kenobi sat on one of the pieces of wood he’d previously gathered and moved his feet closer to the fire, warming them through his boots. “You look tired,” he said bluntly.

She shot a glare at him, then sighed and shook her head, too weary to argue. “I’m tired to the bone,” she admitted. “But I cannot sleep now.”

He studied her for a moment, the light of the flame flickering in brightness and shadow across his nose and cheekbones. He had freckles, she realized. They seemed to dance in the cheerful firelight.

“I will not force you to sleep,” he said. Then he stood and shrugged off his cloak. But instead of dropping it on the ground as he had so many times before, he caught it and carried it to her. “Here. If you cannot rest, you can at least be warm.”

She blinked at the display of kindness. “You’ll be cold.”

He lowered himself to kneel beside her. “I am warm enough, for the moment. I can always take it back from you.” One corner of his lips quirked up. His eyes glittered.

“You will try,” she said, but accepted the cloak. It was too big for her, and smelled like boy-soap and lightsaber-ozone. It still carried his warmth, melting into her muscles and soothing the painful void in her chest.

He sat back on his log. “Traditionally, people tell campfire stories,” he said, and glanced at her.

She tugged his cloak tighter around her shoulders, sinking into his body heat. “That sounds like as good a way to pass the time as any,” she said, and waited.

He watched her, corners of his lips quirked up expectantly.

“Oh,  _ me _ ?” she asked. “I thought  _ you _ were going to tell a story.”

“Oh.” He sucked in a breath. “I know only Jedi stories. I was hoping for a Mandalorian story.”

“I don’t want to think about Mandalore right now.” She picked up a stick and mixed up the flames, feeding them with the chilly night air. They flared bright and happy at her touch. “Tell me a Jedi story.”

“Um.” He turned away. She waited patiently until he turned back. “Okay, I have one for you. It’s an old children’s story, but maybe a children’s story would be good right now.”

She nodded at him to continue.

“A long time ago,” he began, “There was a great and wise Jedi master. One day, while she explored the galaxy, she found two force sensitive twins, so she took them both as her padawans. She trained them, and as they grew up, she came to find that one of her padawans was dutiful and one was lazy.”

As he spoke, he relaxed. His voice deepened by a few notes, flowing through the words like an old storyteller.

“Now, she loved both her padawans equally,” he said. “So she counseled them and shared her wisdom. Eventually it came time to make them knights. They took their Trials and both passed and were sent out to better the galaxy.”

The firelight danced red in his hair, setting the curls aflame. His eyes glittered as he kept watch, always vigilant, even as he relaxed into the story.

“The dutiful knight wanted to better the galaxy,” he said. “He worked hard all the time. He took every mission and saved many lives and killed many dark-siders. He was hailed as a hero. But the lazy knight only wanted to enjoy himself. He rarely did anything to help the galaxy, and rather only helped himself. But he loved his brother.”

His voice rose and fell with the story, and Satine found herself breathing with his cadence. The words flowed over her like a gentle river, washing away the bite of her grief and the ache in her heart. She watched him, watching his hand gestures as he described the duel between the lazy twin and a dark sider who had attacked the brother.

In the end, it was the brotherly love between the two Jedi that defeated the Dark Side. Satine was not sure what the lesson was. But she didn’t think that mattered so much as the story itself.

“And the master grew old and when she passed into the Force, she was happy to know that the brothers would always protect each other,” he concluded, and turned his entire body towards her. “The end.”

“It was a beautiful story,” she said.

He  _ smiled _ at her, his eyes sparkling and his freckled cheeks flushed with the cold air and the hot flames. She had never seen him smile. He smiled with his whole face, his eyes crinkling and his mouth opening and his entire demeanor lighting up. It filled her with lightness too, bubbling up from deep in her belly, and she thought that now, finally, she could relax enough to sleep.

She stood and let his cloak slide from her shoulders. “Thank you, Obi-wan,” she said as she handed it back to him. “I think I will retire now.”

He took the fabric back, his hand brushing against hers. “Of course, Satine,”

He said her name with the same gravitas that he had described the wise old master in the story. Something in the hurt-grief-anger void of her chest fluttered like a baby bird spreading new wings. The feeling, so simple and happy, brought tears to her eyes.

She let their hands touch for another moment, his hand warm, then inclined her head respectfully and retreated to her sleeping bag.

She fell asleep immediately, and for the first time since her father’s death, had no dreams. 

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